


Galentine's Day

by caitlinrose923



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 09:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13678803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitlinrose923/pseuds/caitlinrose923
Summary: This is my Captain Swan Secret Valentine gift for pearlmackie on Tumblr :)She loves Galentine's Day, just like me, and she loves journalism, so I tried to give her a bit of both, with a taste of CS as well :D





	Galentine's Day

**GALENTINE’S DAY** , Emma began to type. She’d been assigned a story on the phenomenon and was less than eager to get started.

“It’s like Valentine’s Day, but with your friends. The girls. The gals, if you will,” Regina had said earlier that day.

“Right but… I don’t have any ‘gals’ to celebrate with. I’m the worst person to assign this story to. Give it to, like, Mary Margaret. She’s probably got enough friends to have Galentine’s Day every day of the week.” Emma really didn’t like to turn an assignment down, but this was just so out of her realm of expertise. She normally did stories that required hours of research and difficult-to-obtain interviews. She’d nearly forced her way into politicians’ offices and snuck into at least three press conferences she hadn’t been invited to.

Storybrooke Press was a no-name newspaper in a no-name town, but it was  _ Emma’s _ paper and it was her town, too, dammit. She loved stories that exposed hard truths and made people question everything they were being told.

“Mary Margaret’s got some sort of special romance story she’s working on,” Regina had rolled her eyes. “She wants it to be a surprise, but I told her I obviously have to give the ‘OK’ before it goes to print. Regardless, she’s busy. Galentine’s Day is yours.”

Knowing there would be no arguing with Regina anyway, Emma left her office in a huff. Now, she sat in front of her computer, the cursor blinking at her, taunting her.

It wasn’t just that Emma didn’t have any ‘gals’. She didn’t have any… anything. She’d grown up alone, bounced around within the foster system until she’d finally aged out of it. She’d tried her hand at romance, but Neal Cassidy had been the wrong person to try it with. He’d done nothing but lie and cheat, but at the very least, her story about him had gotten her onto the paper to begin with.

When he’d left her broken-hearted and just plain broken, Emma had written a detailed account of all of the jobs they’d pulled – every store robbed and every pocket picked – right up until the stolen watches he’d left in some locker on the other side of the state. She’d written it as a form of self-healing, posting it to a blog she’d kept anonymous.

Regina had been intrigued by her writing style and her voice and had emailed the address Emma had created for the blog. She’d asked her to come into the office. Regina promised to keep the blog separate from the conversation, to never bring up Emma’s past that she’d revealed.

It was unconventional, but it was the first time Emma had seen a future for herself. From the moment she’d walked into the Storybrooke Press offices, she’d felt a sense of comfort that she could only assume felt like coming home.

But just because the writing world had welcomed her with open arms, that hadn’t mean her co-workers needed to do the same. Emma knew she came across as a bit prickly and standoffish, but she’d been alone for… ever. She didn’t know how to approach people with anything less than a large amount of distrust and a small dose of fake smiles. The ladies at the paper all knew she was faking, and made no attempt to coerce her into conversation.

Except Mary Margaret.

The lead writer for the Lifestyle section, Mary Margaret Nolan was the kindest, most giving and open person Emma Swan had ever met in her life. There were times – like when she was sick, and Mary Margaret reached into her purse for tissues and cold medicine; or when she’d locked her keys in her car and there was Mary Margaret with a wire coat hanger, shimmying the window down – when Emma really wished that she could have been adopted by the Nolans. They were the same age, of course, but there was something distinctly motherly about Mary Margaret and Emma felt like a kid again whenever she came around with her freshly baked cookies or collecting signatures for someone’s birthday card. Her husband, David, had come to visit once, delivering a full bouquet of flowers to his wife, but also a single flower for everyone else in the office.

It was part charming, part ridiculous. Emma secretly loved it.

Still, even Mary Margaret was no match for the sky-high walls Emma had built around herself. At first, Mary Margaret had tried inviting her to group outings – trivia night, bowling, happy hour, you name it – but Emma declined, and she stopped asking.

Staring at the yet-to-be-written story on her screen, Emma nearly jumped out of her skin when the very subject of her thoughts spoke from behind her.

“Oh, Regina gave you that story? That’s so lovely!” Mary Margaret was nothing if not genuine, despite all the times Emma had tried to see some sarcasm or skepticism in her tone, a darkness behind the light in her eyes. “Have you decided who you’re going to take?”

“Excuse me?”  _ Take where? _ , Emma thought to herself.

“Well, which girls you’ll be taking out for Galentine’s Day, of course!” Mary Margaret was bouncing on the balls of her feet, and Emma breathed out a deep sigh.

“I hadn’t really planned on  _ throwing _ a Galentine’s Day… thing. I’m not sure who to invite.”

Mary Margaret’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, Emma, you should come to mine! We’re going to that restaurant across town with the silly pirate statue out front. They do a really great brunch special to celebrate!”

“I’m sorry,  _ The Jewel of the Realm _ does a special for  _ Galentine’s Day _ ?” Emma tried to keep the nasty tone out of her voice, she really did. She snorted, despite herself. “They probably just want all the girls to come in so they can hit on them.” To Emma’s surprise, Mary Margaret giggled.

“Probably! But it’s worth it – all-you-can-eat for two people for twenty dollars!” She bit her lip. “Please come, Emma. I’d love to help you with your story, and some of the girls from the office will be there, and some of my other friends, too.”

“How many… how many people, exactly?” Emma really didn’t relish the idea of sitting at a table with a ton of strange women, watching to them get champagne-drunk on mimosas and listening to them talk about… what did large groups of women talk about? Emma assumed that on a day like “Galentine’s”, they didn’t talk about men.

“Hmm,” Mary Margaret silently counted on her fingers. “I think I’ve got five for sure, including myself. Six, if you agree.” And there she went, bouncing again. Emma resisted the urge to put her head in her hands and instead forced a smile.

“Sure, I’ll be there.”

“Oh, Emma, that’s fantastic! We’ll be there at ten in the morning, and stay till about noon.” Before Emma knew it, Mary Margaret was hugging her, bending down and wrapping her arms around both Emma and her chair.

_ The things we do for journalism _ , Emma thought to herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~

At roughly quarter after ten, Emma strolled into the Jewel of the Realm. It was packed, with laughter echoing in every direction. Emma heard champagne glasses clinking and smelled a whole lot of bacon.

Maybe this wouldn’t be  _ so _ bad.

“Emma! Over here!” Mary Margaret was waving her arms over her head from a round table with one empty seat. Emma made her way over and Mary Margaret jumped right in with introductions. “So you know Ruby and Elsa from the office,” the two brunettes waved and looked at each other, seemingly surprised that Emma had actually shown up for something, “and this is my neighbor Belle and my childhood best friend, Ashley.”

Emma lifted her hand up in a small wave and promptly took her seat, eager to have all of the attention focused on literally anything in the entire world but  _ her _ .

The conversation picked up quickly, and Emma felt a bit lost. Here were five women who’d clearly known each other forever. They were talking about memories Emma wasn’t a part of, stories she hadn’t been present for. She had nothing to share, nothing to add.

“Emma, what was your favorite birthday party theme when you were a kid?” Mary Margaret asked her suddenly. “Ashley and I had a joint party one year and everyone dressed up as princesses. It sounds so silly, but it was so fun at the time!”

“I um… I never had a themed birthday party.” It would have been easy to lie, to say she’d had a princess theme too, and to simply agree with everything the other girls said, but Emma was never going to get a story out of this ridiculous day if she didn’t participate on some level.

She was a journalist, dammit.

The table went silent for a moment.

“Me neither,” Elsa said. Every head at the table turned her way and Emma instantly felt herself cool off. “My parents passed away when I was very young. My sister and I were raised by our aunt, and she didn’t really believe in large birthday parties. We each got a cupcake or a few brownies, but never a party.” Her eyes met Emma’s from across the table.

“I was raised by my Grandma,” Ruby jumped in. “She’d bake me a cake or something, but I almost always had to work at the diner on my birthday once I was old enough. No bouncy castles for me, either.”

Emma cleared her throat.

“I was raised in the foster system.”  _ Oh God, what have I done? _ She hoped Elsa and Ruby didn’t think she was trying to out-do their stories, make her own childhood sound worse, as though it were a competition. “I get myself a cupcake on my birthday every year now, though,” she added with a shrug. “We all have our traditions, I guess.”

She looked around, and all the women at the table were smiling at her.

On her second trip to the buffet, she was so focused on the seven different bread options, that she completely missed the man behind the station talking to her.

“Miss?” he said, and he sounded exasperated, as though he’d said it more than once. Emma looked up and instantly felt herself blush.

A man with dark hair and blue eyes, who looked as though he hadn’t shaved in three days, was staring at her. And he was  _ hot _ .

“Sorry, yes?” Emma blinked a few times. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself for catching her off guard.

“I was asking you if you’d like bacon, ham, or sausage.” He winked.  _ Oh, God _ . Emma tilted her head.

“This is the bread station,” she replied, instantly feeling absolutely ridiculous. The man laughed good-naturedly.

“Yes, it is. But the meat station is up ahead, and my brother asked me to find out what you’d like, so he can have it ready for you. That okay?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked at her, waiting.

“Oh. Okay.” He was far too good looking to be taking her breakfast order on a day when she wasn’t supposed to be talking about men. Or was she? Was that rule ever actually established? “Bacon, I guess.”

“Excellent.” He walked away and reported her order to the man at the grill. The man handed over the spatula and Emma watched as the dark-haired man started cooking her food himself. It shouldn’t have been hot, but she found herself biting her lip.  _ Focus, girl! _

“I thought you said your brother was manning this station,” she said as she reached the grill, plate half covered with a slice of wheat toast alongside an everything bagel.

“I told him this was a special order, so he could take a break.” The man looked up from the grill, his eyes meeting hers. “That okay?”

“You ask that a lot,” Emma mused.

“I try to make sure I’m not offending anyone,” he grinned, passing the sizzling bacon from the grill to her plate.

“You’re not,” she smirked at him. Belatedly, as she sat back down at the table, Emma realized they’d been flirting.

By the time noon came around, Emma was full of mimosa and eggs and toast and bacon… and a little more mimosa.

Spilling her past about the foster system had been tough, but once it was out in the open, Emma found it easier to relax and tell stories – good and bad – about her childhood. She listened to Belle’s stories about her beast of an ex, and shared her own gripes about Neal. Mary Margaret talked about her struggles to get pregnant and Emma found herself tearing up.

“You can adopt me,” she said before she could think better of it. The whole table laughed, and for a moment, Emma was embarrassed.

“Um, me too, please!” Ruby shouted.

“You and David have enough room for three grown adult women to become your adopted children, right?” Elsa was nearly crying with laughter.

And then they all had tears streaming down their faces, and Emma wasn’t sure how much of it was out of sadness for Mary Margaret’s struggles or their own pasts and how much of it was out of pure, unadulterated amusement at the idea of David Nolan being surrounded by four adult women, three of whom were proclaiming to be his children.

She was nearly out the door, check paid and phone numbers exchanged with girls she’d barely even known a few hours ago, when Emma caught the eye of the man who’d made her bacon.

“How was it?” he shouted from his post – he’d moved onto eggs, apparently.

Emma found herself walking back into the restaurant towards him.

“It was decent,” she shrugged. His jaw dropped.

“Just decent?”

She shrugged again.

“Let me cook you something else.”

“I’m pretty full, actually. Mimosas and eggs and toast and all that.” She looked up at him, wondering what his next move would be.

“Tomorrow then.” He was determined, the set of his jaw and the furrow in his brow told her as much.

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” she laughed. He raised an eyebrow.

“Have you got plans?” She couldn’t read his face or his tone anymore.

“Well, no, but—”

“Great. We’re having a Solo Special. If you come in and let me, Killian Jones, co-owner of The Jewel of the Realm, cook you the meal of your choosing, it’s on the house.”

“I’m sorry, you’re offering a free meal tomorrow?” A short gentleman serving himself some eggs interrupted. Killian didn’t turn away from Emma’s stare.

“Only for her,” he said simply. “She said my bacon cooking skills were decent. I’m simply out to prove her wrong.”

Jaw hanging open, Emma was speechless.

“What do you say, then? One-time only offer. Unless you like the food. And me. Then you can probably come again some other time and chances are, I’ll cook you something on the house again.” He winked at her.

Flirting, again.

“Okay,” Emma was surprised to hear herself say. It must have been all of the mimosas. She’d see if she actually felt like showing her face in this restaurant again when she woke up clear-headed.

“What shall I place the reservation under?” he asked her as she turned to leave.

“Emma Swan,” she told him, and she left.

~~~~~~~~~~~

**GALENTINES DAY** , Emma typed in a brand-new Word document. She hadn’t gotten any further than the title in her original attempt, but starting fresh with a brand new perspective felt like it would be good for the story.

**For someone who grew up on the outside looking in, Galentines Day seemed like little more than an excuse for a bunch of women to get drunk on mimosas and complain about their lives. There didn’t seem to be a point to it – don’t ladies get together all the time to talk about menial things? Why a whole day dedicated to it?**

**But then I realized Galentines Day is about more than just champagne served before noon.**

**Valentine’s Day is about showing the person you care for romantically that you cherish them. You show them love every day, but on one day every year, you’re allowed to get as cheesy and romantic and heart-eyed as you deem fit. You can get sappy and wax poetic about the first time you met, and how their eyes struck your soul or some other over-used line that would seem out of place on any other day.**

**Galentines Day is about showing your** **_friends_ ** **that you cherish them. It’s about sharing your past and your present and your hopes for the future, and about making new friends when you didn’t think you could. It’s about appreciating each other in a way that maybe you don’t go out of your way to do the rest of the year.**

**And maybe it’s also about drinking champagne before noon.**

It turned into a late night and an early morning, Emma writing and editing and writing and editing. She made it strictly factual, then added opinions back in. She shared one of her own experiences from brunch, then erased it for fear of exposing some part of herself she wasn’t ready to share.

She handed in exactly 700 words to Regina exactly nine minutes late, but there were no complaints, and both women seemed to think they’d won, somehow.

“So, are you going back to see that hot guy today?” Ruby asked Emma at lunch. Apparently, making friends also meant that Emma didn’t have to eat her lunch alone at her desk anymore. She was invited to the diner next door, owned by Ruby’s grandmother, with the rest of the girls.

“What hot guy?” Emma, of course, knew exactly what hot guy, but she hadn’t realized that anyone else had even noticed their interactions from the day before.

“Don’t play dumb,” Ruby grinned. “I came out of the bathroom and saw you talking to the guy at the egg station. I thought I heard him offer you a free meal.”

“Wait, the owner of The Jewel of the Realm offered to cook for you?” Elsa’s voice reached a record-high pitch.

Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Emma all turned to her, surprised by her reaction.

“I’ve had a crush on Liam for  _ forever _ ,” Elsa admitted. “I go there, like, once a week, hoping I can get his attention somehow.”

“Liam? Oh… that must be Killian’s brother,” Emma realized.

“There, now you have to go back!” Ruby grabbed Emma’s hands. “If only to set poor Elsa over here up with Liam.” She gave her best attempt at a puppy dog pout, but only ended up looking like a model posing for a photograph.

By the end of lunch, Emma was pretty sure she was going back to The Jewel of the Realm.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello, do you have a reservation?” The hostess smiled at her.

“Um, maybe? If I do, it’s under Emma.” She couldn’t believe she was here. It was Valentine’s Day, and some stranger was cooking her dinner. Was this a date? It seemed like a date. But did dates generally cook you food… in the restaurant you were eating in?

The hostess grinned even wider, somehow.

“Emma Swan?” Emma nodded. “Yes, there’s a reservation here. You can follow me.”

The girl led her to a table off to the side, somehow just a bit quieter than the rest of the restaurant. There were two place settings and a candle in the center of the table.

“Killian will be with you shortly,” the hostess told her, as though Killian were just another server and not the  _ owner of the damn restaurant _ .

What the hell was Emma doing here?

She sat for a moment and considered getting right back up and walking about, but a man approached her with a wine list and she decided that if nothing else, alcohol would certainly help her feel a bit more at ease. She’d done all of the flirting in the world yesterday with just a bit of champagne in her system after all.

She chose a cheap white from the bottom of the list, but she knew as soon as she tasted her glass that it was top-shelf. Cheap wine didn’t go down that smoothly.

“I hope you didn’t order a low-grade wine because you thought you’d have to pay for it,” Killian said as he sat down, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

Emma blushed.

“I told you this was on the house,” he raised an eyebrow at her.

“You said the  _ food _ was on the house,” she pointed out, unfolding her napkin across her lap, simply for something to do.

He sighed.

“The whole thing is on the house, Swan. You’re lovely and I would have asked you on a proper date for Valentine’s Day, but I own a restaurant, so this is pretty much the best I can do.” He bit his lip, and for the first time, Emma realized that he might be as nervous as she was. “Is this okay?”

“This is nice,” she assured him. “It’s great, actually. I’ve never had anyone cook me a meal before, so you’ve got a low bar set for you.”

“No one’s ever cooked for you?” He looked far more surprised than she’d expected. She shrugged and shook her head. “What’s your favorite food? We’re talking, last meal before the electric chair, guilty pleasure, absolutely cannot live without it meal.” He stood as he spoke.

“Um, I don’t have a very refined palate,” she admitted. She admitted that she’d grown up on lukewarm French fries and day old peanut butter sandwiches, mostly.

He smiled.

“Chicken tenders and onion rings it is.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

_ Wine with a kids meal _ , Emma thought to herself.  _ The epitome of romance _ .

Killian came back with a huge pile of onion rings and a basket of chicken tenders. It smelled incredible, and Emma’s mouth began to water.

“I know it’s not exactly a romantic meal, but I find that eating whatever food makes you happy also helps you enjoy the company you’re with.”

“Is that some long-winded cliché you just made up on the spot?”

He grinned.

“Maybe.”

“So, did you make all of this fresh, just for me?” She hadn’t kept track of how long he’d been gone, not wanting his staff to catch her glancing at her phone constantly. They were no doubt all watching her, and she didn’t want them telling her she was an impatient jerk who couldn’t wait for her food to come out.

“I did,” he said. He at her, and she met his eyes. She believed him.

The food was unsurprisingly delicious.

“How are you able to sit and enjoy an entire meal in the restaurant you own on such a busy night?” She asked him as she finished her third glass of wine.

“My brother’s running the floor right now, he’ll come and get me if he needs me.” Killian sipped his water, still working despite the fact that this was very clearly a date.

“Speaking of your brother, I have a friend—”

“That blonde girl from your party yesterday? Oh God, please tell me she’s interested in him.” Killian rolled his eyes. “She’s in here constantly and all Liam does is whine about how pretty she is, but he won’t just go and talk to her.”

Emma laughed, and Killian tilted his head.

“She is,” she said when she caught her breath. “When she heard the owner of this place was cooking me dinner, she almost lost her mind. I had to tell her it was you, not your brother.”

This time, Killian laughed with her, and they must have looked quite the pair, cracking up with a half-empty bottle of wine on the table.

“Bring her with you next time, then.”

“Next time?”

“Yes, if… if you want to come back, that is.” There was that nervous smile again.

Emma nodded.

“I do. This was… nice.”

“Killian!” came a voice from the opposite end of the restaurant. Killian’s eyes closed as his head fell forward.

“I’ll be  _ right back _ ,” he assured her, reaching over and squeezing her hand before he went.

He was only gone a few moments, but he looked much more disheveled upon his return.

“I’m afraid we’re down a cook, so I’ve got to head into the kitchen and take over. I’m so sorry. I hope—”

“Do you have time to walk me out?” Emma bit her lip, feeling the buzz from the wine bring a flush to her cheeks. She pulled out her phone to order an Uber. “I’ve got… six minutes until my driver arrives.” She looked back up at him.

“Yeah, I can spare that,” he grinned. He helped her into her jacket and offered her his arm. They walked out of the restaurant together, and the hostess erupted into giggles as soon as they passed her.

“This was a really nice night, Killian. Thank you.” Emma told him as soon as they were outside.

“I’m glad. I was a bit nervous you wouldn’t come.”

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “But the girls at work convinced me that it was a good idea.”

“I’ll have to thank them sometime.” He took a step closer to her.

“When should I come back with Elsa?” she asked, feet glued to the spot they were in. Would he come closer still?

“Whenever you like. I’m usually not here Tuesdays and Liam’s not here Thursdays. Other than that, I’m all yours.” He was nearly flush against her now.

She tilted her chin up, wondering if people still kissed on the first date. She thought for a moment about how horrible her onion breath probably was, but before she could consider it too deeply, he was kissing her.

He stopped quickly.

“Was that ok—”

She grabbed his jacket and kissed him again. Her phone buzzed with the arrival of her Uber. She pulled away and sure enough, there was the blue Ford Focus she was supposed to be waiting for.

“I’ll be in on Friday,” she told him before she could think better of it, and climbed into the car. She could see him through the passenger side mirror, touching his lips and staring after her, and she smiled.


End file.
